“ ‘Datum ex Castello Rissberg, die 20 mens. Jul. anno 1245 post Resurrectionem,’ he read. ‘To the Magistrates’ Court in Gors Velen. Plaintiff: The Rissberg Complex civil partnership. Defendant: Geralt of Rivia, witcher. Claim: the return of the sum of one thousand Novigradian crowns. We hereby petition, primo: a demand to the defendant Geralt of Rivia for the return of the sum of one thousand Novigradian crowns with due interest. Secundo, a demand to the defendant for the court costs to the plaintiff according to prescribed norms. Tertio: to lend the verdict the status of immediately enforceability. Grounds: the defendant swindled from the Rissberg Complex civil partnership the sum of one thousand Novigradian crowns. Proof: copies of bank orders. The sum constituted an advance fee for a service that the defendant never executed and in ill will never intended to execute… Witnesses: Biruta Anna Marquette Icarti, Axel Miguel Esparza, Igo Tarvix Sandoval…’ The bastards.”

“I returned your swords to you,” said Tiziana, lowering her gaze. “And at the same time saddled you with problems. That beadle tricked me. He overheard me this morning asking for you at the ferry port. And then immediately stuck to me like a leech. Now I know why. That summons is all my fault.”

“You’ll be needing a lawyer,” stated Dandelion gloomily. “But I don’t recommend the one from Kerack. She only performs well outside the courtroom.”

“I can skip the lawyer. Did you notice the date of the claim? I’ll wager the case has already been heard and the verdict read out in absentia. And that they’ve seized my account.”

“I am sorry,” said Tiziana. “It’s my fault. Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, you aren’t to blame for anything. And Rissberg and the courts can go to hell. Master innkeeper! Another flagon of Est Est, if you would.”

* * *

They were soon the only guests left in the chamber. The innkeeper soon let them know—with an ostentatious yawn—that it was time to finish. Tiziana was first to go to her room and Dandelion followed suit to his soon after.

Geralt didn’t go to the bedchamber he was sharing with the poet. Instead of that he knocked very softly at Tiziana Frevi’s door. It opened at once.

“I’ve been waiting,” she murmured, pulling him inside. “I knew you’d come. And if you hadn’t I would have gone looking for you.”

* * *

She must have put him to sleep magically, otherwise she would certainly have woken him as she was leaving. And she must have left before dawn, while it was still dark. Her scent lingered after her. The delicate perfume of irises and bergamot. And something else. Roses?

A flower lay on the table by his swords. A rose. One of the white roses from the flowerpot standing outside the inn.

* * *